


The Dragon Summit

by SaltySaph



Category: shattered planet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltySaph/pseuds/SaltySaph
Summary: I wanted to play with the idea of a future event, after what happens when our Bats have fully evolved into Dragons of their own nature. I think it does the job.





	The Dragon Summit

“Yes, the building itself is safe from fire, Sire.” She clamped her hands around the clipboard. The pen trapped between her fingers wobbled with her tension. She swallowed her fears. Fear would not help them- not unless it was pragmatic. “However this room features rugs, wooden furniture and accents, and counting ourselves, six humans which have historically proven vulnerable to fire.” 

“The Empath Ambassador will prevent such an incident.” The Tyrant smiled. He melted into his throne. One hand rested on the model of the Constellation of the Wyrm. Breathing in, and breathing out he offered a silent prayer to The Wyrm for wisdom. The chair did not move, but it did feel warmer against his aching bones. The word comfort settled into his thoughts. The Tyrant nodded. He licked his finger, and drew the word onto the back of his hand. At first there was nothing but spit, but as the spit settled into his skin it darkened past his complexion and grew from brown to orange to gold. The now bright word would remind him. He showed it to his attendant with the clipboard. “There, you should remember too. Today we restore the comfort of our relationship with them.”

The Tyrant stood up from his chair. He picked up his old cane and the other four humans in the room- the two guards at the door and two Elite Guards at the bottom of the stairs, gave him their full attention. He smiled at them to ease their anxiety. “Remember-” the word echoed through the tall ceiling and rained back into the room- “smoke can be a threat, but it usually not a direct one. They expel smoke in all areas of their lives, and it is a comfort to them. Do not threaten them immediately unless absolutely necessary. If they are smoking, then they are likely as anxious as you are now.”

The four guards nodded. They all breathed deep. The two guards at the door laid their weapons at the wall, shook hands, and then took up their spears again. They bowed to the Tyrant, and then their Elites. They grasped the handles on the tall, heavy doors. They nodded to one another and slowly, carefully, opened the massive entryway to the arriving guests. In the hall stood not men, nor Elephants like they were accustomed to, but instead a Bear of auburn feathers, and a Leaf-nosed Dragon standing a story tall. The Bear led the dragon through the open door into the throneroom. The guards closed the door behind them and the dragon immediately exhaled a faint smoke. 

The Bear stood up on her hind legs. Her feathers ruffled, and large patches of feathers flipped and turned to reveal golden undersides. Black eyes in the skin revealed themselves and the magic in the air churned around them. The last eye to open was on on her forehead. The patches of golden feathers had bloomed into five-pointed stars against her auburn. The dragon looked over its own hauntingly gray fur and found itself jealous of the bear’s beauty. She smiled. The dragon took a deep breath, stopped smoking through resolution and nodded to the bear. The bear nodded back.

To describe the event that followed as Empathy is redundant and insufficient. The Bear, a member of the Empath Tribe, opened up her heart and mind as a platform for all within the room to share a mental, emotional space to co-exist. Like sharing a dream, one real enough to feel at your fingertips, the aetheric mindscape connected with the eight beings in the room. The Elite Guards squirmed, no longer able to hide behind their masks. The Guards at the door laid down their ceremonial spears at the door; unwilling to break Holy Rule of an Empath. The Attendant of the Tyrant bowed to their guests, and the Tyrant lowered his head in recognition. The Dragon blinked. He took in all the emotions of the humans in the room. They matched his own; the uneasiness, the concern, the wariness. He lowered his head to the Tyrant to mirror the respect. The discomfort eased. 

The Dragon sat down on the running rug down the center of the throneroom. His wings rested against against the floor, kneeling to make himself more comfortable. His large upper wings tucked around his narrow underwings. The Dragon whistled softly into the ceiling. The echo made his fur stand up. Thin pulses of excitement and joy rang out from the Dragon into his hosts. The humans smiled. 

They weren’t words- instead they were raw thoughts. There was the comfort of the familiar, juxtaposed with the wonder of something new. They felt his memories of the caves in the mountains. Though the room was large, smooth and decorated in human things, the ashen stone felt like the massive caverns the dragons made their dens in. The Dragon saw the chisel marks in the stone from when the room was first constructed, and the newer marks made above them after the Human-Oliphant War, when the room was made taller to impress Elephant Diplomats. He felt like he could open his wings in this room, but was too self-conscious to try. 

“My friends, welcome.” the Tyrant did not move from his place on the throne stage. He didn’t want to move in and spook the enamoured Dragon. He did not speak, per say, but thought clearly. The Dragon stared at him. The Empath helped the Dragon translate the words into deeper feelings and thoughts. 

The Tyrant greeted the Bear, first. He addressed her by her true name as an Empath, with her defining memory. He remembered the tale of a young cub, covered in mud, gazing at the night sky with her father. Their whole tribe had been eager for this night; the night of the meteor shower. Debris from the space between the stars took to fire in brilliant colours across the heavens and she felt more alive than she had ever known. Instinctively, for the first time, she opened up her feathers to reach out to the heavens with all of her being. For the first time she felt the world around her as it truly was, a wonder. “It is good to see you again, Awe.”

Awe the Empath nodded to the Tyrant. The memory of their first meeting, here in this room, escorted by her Ambassador Mentor, was a joyful one filled with discovery. On the floor, a illusion of young Awe approached the throne and awkwardly tried to bow like a human. An illusion of the Tyrant stood where the real Tyrant did, and they overlapped over one another. The Illusion of the Tyrant bowed to the illusion of Awe, and then they had tea and honey. The images faded into flecks of light. She was delighted to be back, even if there wasn’t time for pleasantries and tea.

Awe looked to the Dragon. He looked to her, and to the Tyrant. He took a deep breath. He had thought this through, but after such warm greetings between Awe and the Tyrant, his cold introduction felt out of place. She encouraged him. With nothing else prepared, he lifted his head. A steady smoke rose from his nostrils and coiled far above them into the ceiling. The illusion of a mountain grew up from the stone floor, through the bright running rug. The mountain was punctured with droves of dragon caves from base to peak. On that peak balanced a slab of rough ore. Dragons rose up from within the mountain and with plumes of fire out of their strange noses they welded the ore into a metal, and molded it into a platform that would tower over them for generations to come. A silhouette of a dragon did not wait for the metal platform to cool before perching upon it. As the dragon lifted its head, moonrise illuminated its gray fur and milky white wings. That dragon on the perch was the Dragon in the Throneroom. Smoke from his nostrils rose in signals, like a fading alphabet. Two short bursts followed by a long plume rose to the moon, and the Tyrant assumed that this conveyed his name. Instead, Awe showed them that it was a Title. 

“Hoardfather of the Iron Peak.” The attendant muttered. She poured over the sheets on her clipboard. The Tyrant looked over her shoulder. “So… he owns most of the batdragons on his mountain?”

“Correct.” The Tyrant smiled. “There are many colonies in the mountains, but our guest is one of the larger tribes. Their social structure is incredible, actually. The Hoardfathers and Hoardmothers hold councils every season.”   
“Are Hoardmothers queens, or…?” 

Awe presented their conversation to the Hoardfather with toonish paintings, dancing along the rug. To the attendant’s question of a Hoardmother, he tilted his head. Awe had presented the Hoardmother as smaller, squished up beside the Hoardfather on the rock. The dragon extended a wingfinger to poke the drawing. The female dragon became shy and hid under the Hoardfather’s wing. The dragon blew out a heavy puff of smoke. He beat the rug with the knot of his wing, like a child punching the floor.   
He extended a finger from the edge of his wing and lowered his head to the drawing’s level. He lifted up the toon Hoardfather’s wing, plucked the Hoardmother from beneath it, and held the toonish drawing on his wing. He presented the Dragon to the Attendant. Awe brought up another mountain, and the Hoardmother was placed on top. The Dragons let out a small stream of fire in honour of her new throne. 

The attendant scribbled furiously. Learning about their culture alone, even if this was all they accomplished, would be progress. She knew The Tyrant had larger ambitions on the docket. She knew he wanted peace before this dragon left, but she had little hopes for it. She paused. She looked up from her clipboard. Why did she doubt peace? If she could answer that question, she could crack down on the heart of her hesitation. She looked over the Hoardfather again. She watched as he tended to the illusions of mountains on the floor. He was protective; distrusting. That struck her as odd. Why shouldn’t dragons trust humans, who cared for them for generations? She remembered learning about Dragons being cast out due to rampant house fires and food shortages. She learned all the reasons why- but not how it influenced the dragons. She hadn’t heard their side of being, well, exiled. Her heart softened. 

“We’re sorry.” She whispered. The Dragon looked up. With his large bat ears and sensitive leaf-nose he heard every sound. Awe started to translate but he stopped her. He understood the tone and the slouching of her shoulders. He crossed the floor. Awe shambled beside him to try and protect the humans; the guards shuffled in to stand between the Dragon and the Attendant, but the young woman instead stepped down from The Tyrant's side to meet the Hoardfather. They looked into one another’s eyes. How did he see her? 

The dragon began to puff irregular patterns out of his mouth. His shoulders flexed with tone. Awe slowly came to translation- and a deep voice she imagined to the Dragon’s thoughts slowly poured into the mold of Human Language. “How does one apologize for what their elders have done? You, a whelp, cannot apologize for His aggression. His cruelty has made us stronger. And now, now that he sees use for us, he wishes to use your sad soul to make Me bend the knee? My Hoard would have me reforge him; but we know the soul cannot be remolded.” 

“Is that what you think of us?” She stepped back. She found herself hot in the cheeks. “Slavers and Taskmasters?” 

“You cannot be blamed for your Hoardfather’s decisions.” The Dragon lifted his head and stretched his wings. The light of the room illuminated his gray-white wings like a haunting. It felt eerily appropriate. “We will not call for blood. We know your Hoard is greater than ours. We will, however, insist on our independance. We have carved from the mountain our ambitions and we will not forsake them.” 

“Absolutely not,” The Tyrant said. “I have no intention of dragging you back into our homes. That would mean disaster for all of our people.” 

Awe resumed her images. As the dragons were brought back into the houses, their heads broke through the roof and the homes caught fire. They made comical attempts to bring their metals and hide them, but smiths kept trying to use the metal, and fighting broke out into the streets. Humans stole from dragons, refused to respect their Natural Order, and war was upon them by nightfall. The Tyrant stepped down the stairs and slammed his staff down on the battle. It poofed into glitter. 

“No. I want to recognize you as a Sovereign Nation.” He drew with his staff into the rug. He drew the outline of his continent, some city-states, and his palace. Awe filled it in. He drew the Oliphant Empire beside it across the Void and Sea. Just north, he drew the islands that had become home to Awe and her people the Empaths. And then to the mountains in the South, he outlined the strips of islands. Then he stepped back and invited the Hoardfather to draw in his own tribe. “But I do not know enough about your Tribes to know how to recognize them. This is why I called upon you. As one of the Greater Hoardfathers, I would like your help explaining to your own.” 

The Hoardfather laid his head on the floor to see the map at eye level. He hummed to see the lights better, but as illusions they didn’t pick up on the sound waves well enough for him to take in. He edged closer so that his eye hung over the tiny territory. The attendant took note of this. Perhaps a physical model of the known territories would go a long way in diplomacy with the Batdragons. The Hoardfather turned to Awe, hesitated, and then turned his attention to the Tyrant. “I do not understand why you want this. What do you want from us?”

The attendant turned to the Tyrant. His eyebrow floated up his heavily wrinkled forehead. The old man nodded. He turned away from the room and gently sat himself into his throne. He caught his breath. “We have seen what you can do. Our explorers have recorded sights of your kind leaving the Miracle Star’s Atmosphere and surviving.”

The Hoardfather backed away from the throne and rose up his wings in defense. His jaw dropped and smoke poured from between his teeth. The Guards thought to take up weapons but the expression on the Tyrant’s face told them otherwise. They anxiously held their ground. Awe stood up on her hind legs to reach out to the dragon. He shied away from her. “Did you bring me here to steal from us? We have finally built for ourselves an ambition- and now you wish to take it? Has it not been enough that you have banished us from our homes? You chased us from our trees and our caves in the hills, where prey and plant were plentiful. You shunned us like sinners; traded us not to a new Hoard but into the wilds, alone and afraid! Now that we can soar where the Stars shine brightest, you wish to rob us of that too?!”

The Tyrant crossed his legs, folded his arms over his chest and leaned into the back of his throne. He beamed. “Yes! Now we’re getting somewhere.”

The Dragon and the Bear lurched at his reaction, but the Humans only smiled. The Attendant stepped down from where she stood near the throne to speak on the Tyrant’s behalf. She bowed to the Dragon and the Bear. “Here, under the Tyrant’s Rule, we uphold an unpleasant truth. We cannot solve the problem until it shows itself. Our Tyrant is not glad that you are angry- we are simply relieved to see your hurt clearly. Only then can we begin to heal.”

“What is there to heal?!” The Dragon spat sparks. At first they were harmless, but as the Dragon flew deeper into his rage they began to catch on the rugs and the furniture. The Guards took to putting them out- stomping on small fires, casting water at others, but the Tyrant did not budge. “Can you return to us all our ages of wandering in the wilderness? Can you rebirth those who have died to our harsh home? Hm?! We know you have been dodging Death for more lifetimes than we have even seen, but can you return life to those who face what you can not?!”

“Would you have rather remained dogs?” The sentence did not translate right away. Awe was more concerned with the growing flames in the room. Swelling, heavy smoke was gathering at the top of the throneroom. She cast The Tyrant a harried glance, but he insisted she continue. She made an illusion of a dog, following a human through the street. The dog was happy, well fed, always half a step behind its master. “Or would you rather be Dragons? Would you have been snipped in the bud- never able to breathe fire again, or would you rather shoot for the stars? Literally. Tell me, Hoardfather. Is comfort truly worth your freedom?”

The rug withered in flames the Guards could not keep up with. The Attendant hid behind the Tyrant’s stone throne, casting water spells from her being. They evaporated before they even reached the flames. The Tyrant could not stand- too weak to fight the heat, but it did not extinguish his flare. He picked up his cane and threw it into the strengthening flames. 

“In every great accomplishment there is sacrifice.” The Tyrant’s voice rode on a magical current, and it reverberated through the people in the room. “I cannot return to you your loved ones. No one can. What I can do, however, is work with you. We know you Dragons see what us Humans and Elephants and Bears see. The Miracle Star cannot sustain us forever. This Planet, broken and shattered, will die; and we are determined to survive it.”

“...We do not need the help of the cruel to survive.” The Dragon wanted to keep his aggression high, but in seeing the humans panic and flee under his fire, he could imagine this being the human cities. Unlike the caverns of the mountains, he knew that such a tantrum would take down entire forests. He knew that had only one of his kin had an outburst- hundreds of lives could be lost. He refused to admit it aloud, and Awe did not reveal it. The Tyrant appeared to know it already, anyhow. He could not look at the old man, the only calm soul in the room. The fire consumed the rug, some furniture, and the cane. The rug was long gone, converted into smothering smoke. It was sinking toward them. Then the Tyrant coughed. 

Then the Hoardfather realized that the smoke could kill them. They couldn’t channel it, they couldn’t breathe it. They couldn’t consume it and belch it out again. He had been invited as a guest, and now through anger alone he could kill them. He hesitated. He could slaughter them. He could rampage about the palace and take out threats before they could challenge him. Eventually he would be stopped, someone would finally be able to stand to him, but by then the damage would be too great. The Hoardfather realized that the Tyrant knew this was possible, and still extended peace to him. The Tyrant knew he would be hurt and angry, that the Hoardfather would come bearing the weight of his people’s vengeance, and still the Tyrant welcomed him to speak of peace- of a future. 

The Hoardfather let out a cry toward the ceiling. It was thicker than he expected. He couldn’t fly out. The windows of the room were too low and too small. Still, he threw his tail against the wall to break them. Small pillows of smoke wallowed out into the garden. Still the humans and the bear huddled by the throne, low to the ground. The Guards were casting spells to repel the smoke away from their Tyrant. It wasn’t working well. There was too much. The Hoardfather muscled himself around them. They didn’t resist him, even though they wanted to. He laid his head on the Tyrant’s throne. His long leaf-nose was as long as the Tyrant’s face. He never noticed how small and feeble humans were. He closed his eyes. He breathed in, sucking up the smoke into his lungs. He siphoned as much of the smoke he could in one breath and forced it into a pillar, right out the window. He raised his head again over the Tyrant, breathed in more smoke, and forced it out the window…

_

The Summit for Peace lay reduced to a pile of dramatically different folks, lying about the stone throne of the Tyrant. He did not look well, but the Hopecallers were confident he would be well by morning. The Attendant was barely standing on her own. She leaned on Awe’s thick feathers. The Dragon attempted to ask if they were well, but Awe was asleep- her telepathic nodes closed. He could not look the Attendant in the eyes. He expected to be shunned, to be scolded, or at least for her to be angry. 

Instead, the Attendant reached out and stroked the fur on his shoulder. Comfort? She didn’t say anything. She knew words would be pretty useless. As the Hoardfather let down his guard, she came close to him and wrapped her arms (as best she could) around his side. He pulled up a wing from her grasp, and wrapped it around her. They lay there on the Throne Room floor, amidst ash and the mud from extinguishing waters. Nothing could be said, but as their hearts beat out of sync, a seed for understanding was finally sown in the Hoardfather.


End file.
